‘I’m certain of it. Sometimes he pretended his English wasn’t as good as it really was.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Viktor. ‘It was a useful trick. I do it myself sometimes.’
‘Anyway, a commission might as well be a knocking shop for all the good that it’s going to do English football. Some of us thought it might actually be the FA’s job to look into the declining number of Englishmen playing in the Premier League. It’s difficult to imagine what the hell else those fat fucks could be useful for. None of the cunts on the FA board of directors has ever played the game professionally, which says all you need to know; quite frankly those self-satisfied bastards haven’t done anything to help the English game since they codified the laws of the game at The Freemason’s Tavern in 1863. And it doesn’t require the establishment of an England team commission to tell you that the biggest problem with English football is the Football Association itself. The FA by name and FA by nature, right?’
Viktor grinned. ‘I think maybe you can be quite outspoken yourself, Scott.’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, Viktor. I was starting to rant. Upset, I guess. Pissed, a bit, too. I had two large cognacs at Silvertown Dock. Spirits always make me a bit fightable. That’s the Scot in me, I suppose.’
‘In that respect at least you are like a Ukrainian or a Russian,’ said Viktor. ‘But there’s no need to apologise. I like a man with strong opinions. Especially when those opinions happen to coincide with my own. That’s not a prerequisite for being the manager of London City, although the press would have you think something else. Yes, we had our differences, me and Zarco. But one thing he and I always agreed about was that if ever we fell out again, you were the best candidate to take over as manager.’
‘That’s very kind of you. And of him.’
‘The players respect you and Phil Hobday speaks very highly of you, as did Zarco. You’re well qualified — a university degree, all your coaching certificates, you’re the most obvious candidate. I only wish I didn’t have to do this tonight. But I’m flying to Moscow tomorrow, and I won’t be back for several days. We’ve bought a player. From Dynamo St Petersburg.’
‘I didn’t know we were in the market for anyone.’
‘Not just anyone.’
‘You haven’t bought the red devil?’
Viktor nodded and I felt my jaw drop. Bekim Develi was generally held to be the best midfielder in Europe; a Turkish-born Russian, he’d been playing for PSG until seventy-five per cent French tax had driven him back to his home town of St Petersburg. Viktor had always been keen to have Develi come to London City — they were old friends, for one thing. But Zarco had rejected the idea — it wasn’t like we lacked options in midfield — and as far as I knew Viktor had been obliged to accept the decision of his recently reinstated manager.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Yes. I am going to finalise the deal this week. Dynamo owes me money. Rather a lot of money, as it happens, so instead of taking what they owe in cash, I’m taking Develi. But I wanted to talk with you in private before I went. To reach an understanding. Man to man.’
I nodded.
‘I’m offering you the job of City manager — at least until the end of the season. Let’s see how we get on. You keep us in the Premier League, then that’s one reason to keep you on full time. An FA Cup and a top-four finish so that we can qualify for the Champion’s League would count for something, too.’
‘I would certainly hope so,’ I said.
Viktor paused and lit a cigar; it wasn’t anything fancy like a Cohiba, just a little Villiger that you could buy at almost any London newsagent.
‘But to be absolutely honest with you, none of that is a priority for me.’
‘It isn’t?’
Viktor shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Then I’d say that for someone who’s the owner of a Premier League football club, you’re a very unusual man.’
‘Yesterday I might have told you something else. But today I tell you frankly, Scott, I don’t give a fuck about cups or titles. There’s something at stake here that’s much more important to me than anything.’
‘I hate to disagree with you, Viktor. For me there’s nothing more important than those.’
‘I want the people who work for me to be passionate about what they do, certainly. And of course this is why I’m offering you the job. But with some strings attached. It’s those strings I’m trying to explain here. You see the one thing I’m really passionate about — more passionate about than football — is my privacy. Nothing is more important to me than this.
‘I don’t ever give interviews. I avoid the light like I was a vampire. Everyone thinks that the panel glass I sit behind at Silvertown Dock is bulletproof. It’s not; it’s camera-lens neutralising. It’s also part of the London City contract with Sky that they don’t do cutaway shots to my seat. I don’t go to film premieres or parties very much. But it’s not always so easy to keep out of the public eye. Especially with the media you have in this country. And the police you have, too. You of all people know to your cost that the media and the police here have an uncomfortably close relationship. If the police want to arrest someone at six o’clock in the morning, they like to tell the newspapers. But this is not a public service. Someone in the police gets paid for the tip-off. For other stories, also.’
I nodded. ‘Where is this going, Viktor?’
‘We have a saying in my country: if you send a man out to shoot a fox, don’t be surprised if he hits a rabbit. In a murder inquiry the police can go where they want and look where they want. Almost anywhere. So the police won’t just be looking for Zarco’s murderer. The police will use Zarco’s murder as a fishing trip to investigate all of my affairs. Any information they get they’ll share with the media. With Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs. With the Financial Services Authority. With the security services — MI5 and MI6.’
‘With all due respect, sir, this country is a little different from yours. I know our police can behave disgracefully. But what you’re suggesting—’
‘Has already happened, Scott. I’m sorry to disappoint you but you see, in the name of national security, this country is much more like Russia and Ukraine than you might imagine. I have my sources in the British government who keep me informed of things that might affect me. I pay very well for this information and it comes from the highest level, so believe me, it can be trusted. Your Detective Chief Inspector’s boss is a man called Commander Clive Talbot OBE, and at this very moment he’s having a meeting with some shady people in the Home Office.’
‘I see. So the quicker Zarco’s murder is solved the better.’
‘Precisely.’
‘I understand.’ I frowned. ‘Actually, no, I don’t. You say you want Zarco’s murder solved quickly. Surely that implies we ought to cooperate with the police. I mean, how else are they to find out who killed him unless we help them? I don’t see how we can let them hunt for our fox in any other way. If I can borrow your metaphor for a moment, surely the risk to our rabbit is the price we have to pay in order to shoot the fox.’
‘Then let me explain. I want you to hunt for our fox, Scott.’
‘Me?’
Viktor nodded.
‘You want me to play detective?’
‘I pride myself on knowing the people who work for me and I think that you would also prefer to have things handled as discreetly as possible, out of your loyalty to the club and to Zarco. Am I right?’
I thought of the two mobile phones I’d already taken away from Silvertown Dock and which were now in the bag at my feet. You had to hand it to Viktor Sokolnikov: he had me sussed all right.
‘Yes. You are.’
‘We both know that Zarco pulled quite a few strokes in his time as City manager. It certainly wouldn’t help him and it probably wouldn’t help me if some of those strokes were laid bare in the media.’